


First Earlies, Late Maincrop

by ProfessorFlimflam



Category: Holby City
Genre: Early menopause, Edward is a prize potato, King Edward - Freeform, Menopause, Potato faced men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-05
Updated: 2018-05-05
Packaged: 2019-05-02 03:24:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14535585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProfessorFlimflam/pseuds/ProfessorFlimflam
Summary: Serena is more irritated than surprised when Edward comes asking for help with his relationship with Liberty. But it’s not what she expected - and to Edward’s confusion, she’s not able to offer any help.





	First Earlies, Late Maincrop

Serena Campbell deleted the last email in her inbox with a sigh of satisfaction and glanced at the clock hanging in her office. Fifteen minutes before her next scheduled meeting - well, that was an unexpected treat: an actual break for once. Just time enough to close her eyes for a quick nap.

_Knock knock!_

Her shoulders sagging, she opened her eyes in time to see the most unexpected figure at the door. She looked at him blankly.

“You don’t work here.” She stated flatly.  
“No.”  
“You’re not a patient?”  
“No.”  
“ _Visiting_ a patient?”  
“No.”  
“And I know I’m not married to you any more. So that leaves the question: what are you doing here, Edward?”

He came into the office and closed the door behind him, to Serena’s irritation. 

“Well, you’d better sit down, but I warn you, I haven’t got long - I’ve got a meeting in fifteen minutes - less, now. Spit it out, why are you here?”

He took a seat, and said, “I need some help, with Liberty.”

“Edward, you can’t be serious. You’re coming to _me_ of all people for marriage guidance?”

He started in his seat, and almost laughed. “No, no - god, no - not marriage - menopause!”

Serena looked at him in utter incomprehension. “What on earth are you talking about? And why are you talking about it to me?”

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees and looked up at her imploringly. “It's Liberty: she’s starting to go through the menopause.”

“Don’t be absurd, she’s barely out of puberty!” Serena just couldn't help herself when it came to Edward’s younger - _much_ younger - wife, whom she had long referred to as the Embryo.

“Serena, it’s not funny. She’s really distressed by it, and an early menopause is no joke, believe me.” 

She relented, and made an apologetic little gesture. “She’s awfully young for it - what is she, thirty two now?”

“Thirty four. Don’t tell her I told you that - she thinks people put her in her mid to late twenties.”

As they both rolled their eyes at Liberty’s vanity and naïvety, Serena felt a brief pang of comradeship with her ex-husband that took her by surprise.

“Well, all right. I’m sorry to hear it - you’re right, of course you are, an early menopause is no fun at all. I do feel sorry for her. But what sort of help do yo imagine I can give her?”

“I thought perhaps you could tell me a bit about how it felt for you, you know, help me understand it a bit better? And talk to her about it, too - help her out if you can?”

She looked at him, surprise evident on her face. “Well, perhaps I could if I’d had it - but I don't seem to be anywhere near it so far, so - sorry, can’t help.”

“What do you mean - you went through it while we were still together!”

Her eyebrows had never been more perfectly arched. “Er, no - what gave you that impression?”

“Yes, you did! You never wanted sex, you were so angry all the time - you seemed to be in a state of perpetual irrational rage! What was that all about if it wasn’t the menopause?”

Serena struggled to stop herself rolling her eyes again, and shook her head.

“That, Edward, was not wanting sex with you because I knew you were having it elsewhere; it was me being angry with you for lying and letting Elinor believe you were some poor put-upon man whose wife wasn’t attentive enough, and my rage may have been perpetual - but irrational it was not! That wasn’t the menopause - it was you being a prize potato!”

He winced under this spirited attack, and had the grace to look shamefaced.

Serena relented a little, and said, not unkindly, “Look, Edward, it’s great that you’re trying harder with Liberty and trying to understand what she’s going through - really, it is. Good for you. But maybe your ex-wife isn’t the person she’ll want to confide in, hmm? And particularly when she’s going through it so early, and I haven't even had any warning signs yet. She’d be better off talking to a gynaecologist - I could give you Derwood’s number if you like, or maybe she could just talk to her own mother, or an aunt? She’s probably doing that anyway.”

His shoulders slumped. “It seemed like the ideal solution, but I suppose you’re right. I feel I ought to know more about it all really - it’s a bit of a facer, isn’t it, when you come across something like this that’s such a normal human function, and you find out you know next to nothing about it?”

“Is it?” Serena said. “I wouldn’t know - it’s never happened to me yet. Well, don’t give yourself too hard a time about it. I don’t suppose either of you were expecting it for a long while yet. I am sorry, Edward, really, I am. It’s rotten luck for her.”

Edward shook his head wearily. “It really is - she’s devastated. We hadn’t made any decisions about children,” he said carefully, not looking at her, “But it’s hard on her to have the decision taken away from her like this. And you know what she’s like - she’s so worried about the effects of it on her looks - says she doesn’t want to go grey and wrinkly prematurely -” he looked up sharply at a muffled noise from Serena, realising that he had quite possibly said something Very Bad. 

But she was laughing. “Oh, bless her silly vain cotton socks - that comes to us all soon enough, menopause or no menopause. Look at the two of us, eh? Not quite matinee idols any more, hmm?”

Edward rubbed his thinning hair rueful and smiled. “Not quite. Life in us yet though, eh? Oh, I don’t know, Serena - it just seems very unfair. I thought the menopause wasn’t supposed to hit until your late forties or fifties?”

“Well, that’s the theory - but you know Mother Nature - she will insist on throwing in outliers here and there. Or not even outliers, really - thirty four is very early, but it’s not unheard of - some women get it in their twenties or even sooner, poor things. It’s a bit like planting potatoes - you get your first earlies, your second earlies - that’s Liberty - and so on. You just don’t know which crop you’re going to be in.”

“Don’t tell, me, you’re planting spuds at that allotment of yours, aren’t you?What are you, then, potato-wise?”

Serena, who had indeed been planning another couple of rows of potatoes, had the answer ready. “I suppose I’m a late maincrop - the last to be picked.”

“And I must be a King Edward!” Edward pronounced proudly, sitting up a little straighter at the thought of being potato royalty.

With her head on one side, and glancing briefly and dismissively at the general vicinity of his trousers, she sniffed.

“More of a pink fir apple as far as I recall.”

“An apple? I thought we were talking about potatoes?” Edward was understandably confused.

Looking at her watch, Serena stood. “I’m sorry, Edward, I really do have to go - and I'm sorry I cant help with Liberty. Do give her my best though, if you think she’d appreciate it. Give Derwood a call - look, here’s his number.” Taking out her phone, she copied the number down on the nearest available bit of paper. “See yourself out, won’t you?” And she hurried off.

Feeling as wrong-footed as Serena had always made him feel, Edward glanced down at the little magazine in his hand, with Derwood Thompson’s phone number written along the top edge. It was a seed catalogue - goodness, the woman really was obsessed with that allotment. In idle curiosity, he flicked through the pages with their colourful photos of fruits and vegetables, until something caught his eye.

“Pink fir apple… go on, then, Serena, let’s see what you thought of the old meat and two veg… Oh - really! How _dare_ she?”

For there on the page before him, in glorious technicolour, was a pile of small, slim, bright pink, knobbly potatoes, covered in wart-like protuberances. In a huff, he turned the page, to be confronted with an array of magnificent purple heritage variety carrots.

“That’s more like it,” he muttered. All the same, he, thought as he adjusted himself before leaving the office, it wouldn’t hurt to get someone in Genito-Urinary to have a quick look. They were probably just skin tags, but those pink fir apple warts had got him thinking…


End file.
